Chapter Forty-One Ella
Chapter Forty-One
Ella
Unease churns in my abdomen as I catch the look Fabio and Alonso exchange.
It’s quick. Subtle. But it’s there.
What have I gotten myself into?
Whatever it is, I’m refusing to be part of it.
“Well, if there’s no danger,” I say evenly, “then I’d prefer to explore alone.”
Neither of them argues.
Fabio starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot.
Silence settles inside the car as we drive through the busy streets of Syracuse. Traffic weaves around us, scooters darting between lanes. I stare out the window, and suddenly I’m convinced I see black SUVs at every intersection.
One behind us. One parked ahead. One turning the same corner.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a quiet breath.
Stop it.
There are plenty of black cars in the world.
When we cross the bridge onto Ortigia, the energy shifts.
The streets narrow, and the sea glints on both sides. There are fewer cars here, and only scattered tourists drift along the sidewalks.
The calm should soothe me. Instead, it feels… suspended.
Like something waiting.
I straighten in my seat. No. I’m not doing this.
I’m here to explore. To enjoy the island. To live it up.
Fabio pulls over near the entrance to the old town, and Alonso gestures toward a stone path that runs along a weathered wall overlooking the sea, winding toward the heart of the island.
It looks enchanting. Sun-bleached stone. Blue water stretching endlessly beyond it.
“Call me when you’re ready to head back,” Fabio says, handing me his card.
I nod and step out of the car.
The salty breeze brushes across my face, and for a moment I just stand there and breathe.
Fabio and Alonso pull back onto the road and drive off. I watch them disappear around the corner, and suddenly I’m aware of how alone I am.
I scan the street for black SUVs.
There are none.
I huff out a quiet laugh at my overactive imagination. Still, just to be sure, I study the people around me.
They all look normal. Touristy, with sunhats, cameras, and sandals. There are no burly men in dark suits. No looming presence.
Good.
It really is all in my head.
As I stroll along the narrow streets, I pass souvenir shops, and my thoughts immediately turn to Rhia. She would love this place.
I almost call her, but she never answers during the workday.
A vintage shop catches my eye. Rhia collects old-fashioned hairpins, and with her birthday approaching, I’ve been searching for one with a dragonfly. So far, no luck. But maybe today.
I cross the street and step inside.
The shop is crammed with treasures and even has a dedicated pin section. Lapel pins, brooches, hat pins, tie pins, and an entire display devoted to delicate hair accessories.
I sift through them carefully. None are right for Rhia. Just as I’m about to leave, something else catches my eye.
Oh.
My pulse stutters. It’s perfect.
Not for Rhia.
For Tiero.
I bite my lip to contain my excitement. He’s been so generous with me. Now I’ll have something to give him. Something small. Something to remind him of me after I’m gone.
With a quiet grin, I make my purchase.
The afternoon drifts by as I wander through the ruins, the Temple of Apollo, and finally the cathedral.
I love cathedrals.
The hush inside them feels sacred, even if I wouldn’t call myself religious. The scent of old stone and faint incense settles into my lungs. When I sit in the stillness, it feels as though time loosens its grip.
Back home in Dublin, I visit Christchurch Cathedral every week. After my parents died, it became my refuge. A place to sit. To breathe. To feel small beneath vaulted ceilings that have witnessed centuries.
I’ve always liked that feeling of smallness. It puts everything into perspective.
But today, the calm won’t come.
A restless edge crawls beneath my skin.
I lift my gaze and scan the cathedral.
A handful of visitors drift between paintings and statues. An elderly woman kneels near the altar, whispering prayers. A man with a low man bun leans against a column, reading one of the cathedral brochures. His hair is slicked back, dark and glossy in the filtered light.
Something about him pulls at my memory.
My breath catches in my lungs.
Is that…?
I narrow my focus, trying to make out his features, but the light is dim and fractured by stained glass. Still, he looks like the man I collided with just moments before meeting Gualtiero that day in Taormina.
No. That’s ridiculous. It can’t be.
My pulse begins to climb anyway.
He hasn’t looked my way. That’s good, right?
If he were here for me, he’d be watching me. Wouldn’t he?
He rolls the brochure into a loose tube, then lifts it casually, as if pointing something out.
Or signaling.
My stomach drops.
I turn my head slightly.
Across the nave stands another man. Broader. In a dark suit.
He gives a barely perceptible nod. Raises his hand. Returns the signal.
My mouth goes dry.
I only realize I’ve been holding my breath when my lungs start to burn. I release it slowly, wiping at my forehead where a sheen of sweat has formed.
They’re not here for me. They’re not here for me.
I repeat it like a prayer.
Why would they be? My rational mind scrambles to intervene.
I’m letting Alonso’s evasiveness get to me. Nothing sinister is happening.
I inhale deeply, trying to steady myself. It doesn’t help. My heart pounds harder.
My gaze snaps back to the man with the bun.
He’s gone.
The space beside the column is empty.
A cold spike shoots down my spine. I sit up straighter, scanning the aisles.
There. He’s walking slowly along the line of pillars.
Toward me.
And this time, his eyes are on me. I remember them now. Icy. Polished. Black.
My heart stutters violently, then slams against my ribs. Heat strikes me like a lightning bolt, then drains just as quickly, leaving my limbs weak and buzzing.
I search for the nearest exit.
A side door sits to my left.
No. That could lead to a deserted alley. I need to stay where there are people. Stay visible.
A chill ripples across my skin. I twist in the pew to check behind me. Only a raven-haired woman remains there, head bowed in prayer.
When I turn back, both men are gone.
My pulse roars in my ears. What if they’re waiting outside?
Maybe I should text Tiero. But what would I say?
Hi, I think two random men are exchanging signals in a public cathedral?
He'd think I'm crazy.
I drag in a shaky breath.
Or I could text Fabio and tell him I’m ready to leave. Ask Alonso to meet me here. Assuming Alonso is still with him.
I wipe my forehead again. My palms are damp now too.
The longer I sit here, the more the hairs at the back of my neck rise.
That feeling of being watched… I can’t shake it.
I need to get out of here. I need air.
Rising slowly, I edge out of the pew. I fix my gaze on the main doors and begin walking, forcing myself not to rush. That would draw attention.
I pass the first column.
A hand shoots out and clamps around my arm.
I scream.
The world jerks violently as I’m yanked backward against cold stone. My lungs seize. A hand covers my mouth.
My heartbeat explodes into chaos.